


Say It

by thebooklord15



Series: Give it a voice now, shouting it all loud [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst angst angst!, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Grief, Grimm is Not Very Smart sometimes, He Is Wrong, M/M, Mourning, Other, PK learning to Dad, Please for the love of God read the tags, Self-Indulgent, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sorry England, WL is gone, Was not planned, accidental grave desecration, also because in this AU ghost and quirrel are kiddos, also i know i've said this before, also lurien is a gay disaster, also monomon is quirrel's adoptive mother and you can FIGHT me on that, also radiance was not some benevolent moth god nor a victim, also remember what i said about herrah being a good mom?, also: First non-con moment is mentioned in chapter seven!, and has a BAD ATTITUDE IN GENERAL, and i am here to amend that, and i didn't want some rando bug for my therapist character, and is mostly gonna be a background thing, and midwife is pretty cool too, and so are all the other lovely queers i know are seeing this, as is my hk, be gentle this is my first time writing these bugs-, because i have a feeling there are going to be many more tears shed in this story, but herrah stans need to SHIELD THEIR EYEEES, but i've heard that most of the food there is bland, but it's happening?, but my brumm is aroace, but you gotta expect that with them, deepnest has the best food hands down, don't even @ me, don't worry pk learns, even though they are both weird hermits who would probably meet at a grateful dead concert, every aroace person who's reading this: you're fucking vaild, ghost is just short and immature, hallownest is like the england of this world when it comes to anything culinary, he kinda always knew anyway, he thinks his staff cook the best in all the lands, herrah stans this ain't for you, hive is third, hive knight is hornet's cool cousin, how has this not been done yet?!, i have taken creative liberties with pk's future vision, i headcanon pk to be biased about food, i know nobody asked, i somehow have never seen this ship before, i'll try to balance out the tear/hug ratio, i've said it a lot, if it has lemme know I wanna SEE, inconsitant chapter lengths, jiji x snail shaman, just repressed the hell out of it, like grimm will tell that to anyone who listens, like read the tags, like she already works with regrets in canon, like she is a NOT GOOD PERSON, like tiso and myla and bretta, like you guys might wanna bring some tissues, my first hollow knight fic and it's miles away from canon, quirrel is around ghost's age, second love, she does a BAD THING, she stole his lunch money when they were seven and he's STILL not over it, she was a cult leader/dictator bitch who can kick rocks, she's a baaad person, should probably mention brief dehumanization with hk, so are some of the other bugs ghost befriends, so my brain has decided that confessor jiji is a therapist, so uh, sooo, still love you guys, that turned into her being a manipulative bitch who THINKS shes a good mom, the kind that would knit ya a sweater, the mantises are a close second, there are so many crying scenes in this that i feel the need to add a tear warning, there is so little aroace rep is fics, there is so much possibility for chaos and shenanigins with these two?, this should be wild, updates happen when they do, vespa is a cool aunt, we take her nickname of 'beast' more seriously, whoops?, will update tags as I go, y'all are valid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26342050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebooklord15/pseuds/thebooklord15
Summary: In an event unprecedented by even the King's foresight, his White Lady sacrifices herself to end the infection, absorbing the Old Light into herself, and dragging them back into the earth's soil she'd sprung from so long ago.A grieving Pale King is left lost, confused and struggling to parent the three of his children that remain.When a certain circus troop enters the picture, it's master following the dying calls of his sister, things only complicate further.This is a journey of learning to live with loss, finding the meaning to parenthood, rebuilding burned bridges, and opening one's heart to new love.
Relationships: (Herrah/TPK was non-con though), Eventual Quirrel/Ghost, Grimm/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), Herrah the Beast/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Series: Give it a voice now, shouting it all loud [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092209
Comments: 268
Kudos: 344





	1. Talk your heart out

“If I didn’t know any better, I might begin to suspect my wyrm was hiding from me.”

The Pale King, who was used to having his office intruded in such a manner, was not deterred from his work. Though he did lift his head slightly to show he had heard.

“Apologies my lady,” he said, gaze remaining fixed upon the document in front of him, “I’m sure I will be finished with these correspondence within the hour.” The small mountain of paperwork, carefully organized by each matter’s urgency, told a different story.

“Is that so?” He heard her roots dragging onto the marble of his office’s floor. The sound halted when she’d reached the front of his desk. “I seem to recall you saying the exact same thing in the previous _ two _ hours I checked in with you.” 

He sighed, sensing where this was going. “Root..”

“Hornet was finally able to best Dryya in combat yesterday.” 

Caught off guard, the King’s quill halted in it’s movement. His signature was halfway complete on the agreement of funding for the Archives. 

Finally, he spared his wife a glance.

She merely gazed down at him serenely, blue eyes creased in a polite smile, as if she hadn’t just brought up the training habits of Herrah’s daughter totally unprompted.

“..Is that so?” He echoed her earlier words, after a few moments had passed.

“Indeed,” she responded with a dip of her head. “Nearly knocked her right out of the training ring, if Ogrim is to be believed. I doubt she would ever admit to such feelings, but when I asked her it seemed as if she was proud of being defeated.” With a light chuckle she added, “Perhaps one day we’ll get a smile out of her.”

The King hummed to show that he was listening, completing his signing of the document. He shifted it over to the stack of parchment on his left, where all the approved items were. Using the hand not holding his writing utensil he plucked a fresh form from the pile to his right, all the paperwork he hadn’t looked at yet. 

In the same light tone his Root continued, “A shame that you won’t be around to see it. You’ll have worked yourself into your grave by then, pondering trade deals, fundings and..” She leaned forward, squinting at the parchment laid in front of him. “..Petitions for a statue of  _ ‘Zote the Mighty, Knight of Great Renown.’ _ ” She huffed, muttering, “The renown must not be that  _ great _ , for I’ve never heard the name.”

“ _ I  _ have, unfortunately.” He chose to ignore the jab, shifting the topic while he had the chance. “Nearly every month he’s written to me, asking for some sort of monument or another. I’m tempted to send him a request of my own. A letter of cease and desist.” 

“Has he ever specified what he’s done to earn such recognition?”

“Beyond the twisted fantasies of his supposed battle glory, no.”

“Perhaps that in itself is worthy of recognition. It takes a rather impressive amount of ego to delude oneself to such an extent.”

The Pale King sighed. Much as he would’ve liked to continue their repertoire (for there were few things he cherished more than time with his lady) there was important business to conduct. Allowing this conversation to continue would only hinder that.

“My lady, you know it is my wish to waste the daylight that’s left with your banter, but we both know I haven’t the time for such things.”

A moment of thoughtful silence, only broken by the quiet scrapings of quill against spider-silked parchment.

“Is it truly,” White Lady began, softly, “when you call it a waste?”

All too late he realized his folly. “That isn’t what I-”

“I understand exactly what you meant.”

Defeated, he watched his lover retreat back into the palace halls.

He sighed. Rubbed a claw against his temple. Crumpled up Zote’s petition. Started a draft on that cease and desist letter. 

_ Tomorrow _ , he vowed,  _ I’ll make it up to her tomorrow _ .

\---

“My liege? It’s time.”

The voice of Hegemol, always startlingly delicate for someone of his size, managed the strength to break the king from his stupor.

He blinked, slowly, hands stained of void and failure shaking beneath his gaze. 

With a sigh he curled them into fists. Squeezed them so tightly his claws threatened to break the outer layers of his chitin. He welcomed the pain like an old friend.

Heart heavy and pride bruised, it was difficult to rise from the chair of his workbench with his head held high and shoulders squared, but he did so nonetheless. A slouching king is unworthy of the crown he wears, regardless of the fragility of their mental state.

Turning to his knight he could only manage a nod in response. Hegemol returned it, sensing the want for quiet.

The two make haste on their journey to the City of Tears.

It would be terribly rude to be late to the queen’s funeral, after all.


	2. So long and goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral is held, many things are left unsaid, and many other things left unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting so many people to read this in such a short amount of time. Thank you so SO much to everyone who has! I love your wonderful comments more than words can express- this fandom is seriously full of the sweetest people.
> 
> That being said, I would like to apologize for the emotional hurt this chapter might put you through. It gets better, I promise!

The statue of the White Lady was absolutely gorgeous. 

Spiraling at a grandiose height of thirty meters, it had taken an amount of pale ore unimaginable to a commoner’s mind to create. The queen was depicted in a nurturing pose, branches spread wide in a warm welcome, the sleeves of her gown hanging elegantly off of them. Her roots curled around the statue’s base as if she’d sprung up from that very spot out of the blue. Two generously sized hemmiphorites made up her eyes, creased lightly as if she were smiling. The rivulets of rain somewhat ruined that, as the water ran down the statues face in tear-tracked patterns. Branches from atop her head looped into a subtle halo, dotted with white roses and intricately carved leaves. 

It was a wonderful memorial that the people of Hallownest would gaze fondly at, remembering the motherly benevolence of their queen.

The Pale King looked at it for a good twelve seconds before deciding he absolutely _despised_ it.

His lady had never cared much for the type of gaudy clothing she’d been depicted in; making appearances dressed in such a fashion had been more of a formality on her part, wanting to appear as the royal figure that was expected of her. She did not posses half of the number of roots she’d been depicted with. (He wasn’t sure why her replica had been given so _many_ \- to make her appear more plant-like, perhaps?) Her eyes were not the cold forbidding blue of gemstones, but the soft grace of a still lake, the morning dew that clung to grass blades. The Pale King suspected his wife would have outright scoffed at the halo, as he wanted to now. How completely and _utterly_ tacky.

When the time came to give his opinion on it, the monument’s creator waiting for his words with bated breath, he found the will to be polite.

“You’ve done my lady justice. It is much appreciated,” he lied to the trembling bug at his side. The figure on the other side of him, the Hollow Knight, was unsurprisingly silent. _(Though, were it a living bug, the Pale King would have noted that it’s look towards the monument was forlorn. But it was a vessel and nothing more, so he ignored this outlandish idea)_ He caught a faint exhale of relief on the artist’s part, though their shaking did not cease. 

“Anything for you my king,” their response was as typical as the deep bow he received. He gave them a nod in dismissal. They scurried backwards into the crowd, bowing all the way.

He turned to face the crowd, if only to tear his eyes away from the waste of geo behind him. The Hollow Knight mimicked his movements. He had not ordered it to do so, but was too distracted to make much notice of it. Given that all government services had been halted for the day, nearly the entire kingdom had packed into the capital, flanking the king and his Five Knights from all sides, filling every square inch of the plaza. Those who couldn’t find room there bunched at the windows in surrounding buildings, faces eagerly pressed against the glass. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see the rooftops teeming with citizens as well. 

Among the common bugs were more familiar faces of royalty; Queen Vespa, joined by her Hive Knight, his royal retainers, the noble bugs of the Queen’s inner circle, the remaining mantis lords and the dreamers as well- Lurien with his butler, Monomon and her adopted son and- 

Herrah the Beast.

Dead center of the crowd, all four eyes locked onto him with a familiar intensity. The child he sired for her, though she was but a grub, managed to be equally imposing at her mother’s side.

He shifted his gaze away more quickly than he would have liked to admit.

\---

The speech he gave was akin to the pat-down all of the subjects seeking audience with him were required to go through; very uncomfortable and nothing more than a formality.

He spoke not as a grieving widower, but a stoic ruler. It was not the loss of his beloved wife he lamented on, but of the great sacrifice the queen had given to her kingdom. What _hypocrite_ he was- his words were just as tacky as that ridiculous statue at his back.

“..may Hallownest stand eternal, and may we never forget the White Lady and she has done for us.” The Pale King concluded.

“May Hallownest last eternal,” the crowd echoed, save for the foreigners among their ranks.

He barely managed to hold in a relieved sigh; he had never been much for crowds. That was his lady’s element, not his. Briefly, he wondered what she would do, had their roles been reversed. Would she feel such tired detachment surrounded by bugs she barely knew, or find comfort in the presence of so many?

He wished he could ask. Wished even more that this fantasy had been reality.

But wishes were all these desires would remain. All he had left was the bitter taste of his reality. 

He kept his head high and shoulders squared as he marched through the crowd, his Knights following swiftly behind, the Hollow Knight matching his quick stride, and his subjects bowing and whispering condolences and praise all the way. 

Were his gaze not fixed so intently on the exit, he might have noticed a single tear, inky black, making its way down the Hollow Knight’s mask.

  
  


\---

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

The nightmare heart beat steadily on to it’s endless song. Grimm could feel each pulse within his own chest.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

In the quiet of the night there was little interruption to the tune. The troupe was wise enough not to disturb their master while he slept- _no-one_ has seen what a real nightmare king Grimm can be until they make the mistake of breaking his slumber.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

_Th-_

Within his mind a shriek that could only be described as the very sound of _light itself_ erupted so violently that Grimm dropped from the ceiling out of shock.

His head smacked painfully onto the floor. There was a tug of his cloak followed by a _riip_ that kicked up sparks of anger- must have gotten caught on something.

Claws flew to his temples, pressing hard against each side. That _horrible cry_ was still echoing about his skull, ears ringing and throbbing from it’s abuse. The ground beneath seemed to be equally unsympathetic to him. It was terribly cold and sent sharp pains into the places his joints had collided with it awkwardly.

He growled as he pushed himself off the floor, using his elbow so he could continue to cradle his head.

Of _course_ that bitch had to die just as he was drifting off to sleep. 

_Of-fucking-course she did._

His sister’s final act and it was to _spite_ him.

_Gods_ how he hated her. 

Well if _that_ was how she wanted to play, Grimm would prove himself to be equally petty. Teeth bared he clambered the rest of the way up, dusting off his torn cloak with a frown.

She may be dead and forgotten, and she may not have a grave for him to spit on, but he’d be damned not to follow that dying call to its origin and erect one himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not resist having Grimm's cameo featuring him being a petty bitch- hopefully his antics make things feel a bit more lighthearted.


	3. I take a look at my life, and realise there's not much left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale King tries desperately to suppress his grief, and ends up seeing something he wasn't meant to. Divine just wants to know why her master thought it was okay to flip their lives upside-down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has lots of grief/unhealthy coping in it. Our poor wyrm just cannot handle emotion. Petty!Grimm makes another appearance because I couldn't resist (I know you guys wanted more of him too XD)

The scratch of quill on spider-silk was all that could be heard within the Pale King’s office. It echoed off the metal walls, reverberated around the room. He’d never known a sound this quiet could be so deafening.

(It hadn’t been so bad, with Root checking on him every other hour. Her voice had been warm and sweet, a welcome change of pace from the lonely white-noise of his work. He wished he hadn’t turned her away so often. He wished he had spent more time with her.

He wished she knew how sorry he was that he hadn’t.)

The Pale King felt a wetness beginning to build under his eyes, so he paused in his writing for a moment, taking in a deep breath. One, two, three, inhale. One, two, three, exhale. His claws pinched at the bridge of his mask, right between his eyes, as if he could keep the tears at bay through force alone.

There was work to be done. Important documents to be signed. No time for dwelling- procrastination was hardly a trait befitting of royalty, now was it? 

He removed his claw from his face, scrubbing under his eyes where his tears  _ would _ have been, had he shed any. Right. Back to work then.

The documents started to blur together after a while. Funds, business transactions, trade deals, construction requests. They were all swiftly scanned and signed without much thought. One pile to the next. He wasn’t even sure  _ what  _ he was approving half the time- if those ‘Soul Sanctum’ fools started experimentation again, claiming he'd given them the okay, he’d have nobody but himself to blame.

(But when  _ wasn’t _ he to blame? Whose fault was it Radiance attacked in the first place? Whose fault was it that an abyss was lined with the cracked shells of his progeny?

Who’s fault was it that his wife had felt the need to take on the infection herself, when he’d begun to doubt his _ own _ plan?)

_ Yes _ , he could concede, these things were indeed his own fault, but now was not the time nor place to be pondering that. 

He forced himself to return to his work, writing utensil shaking, lower claws digging into the marble of his desk.

_ Why  _ couldn’t these thoughts just  _ stop _ cropping up, he didn’t want to think of the _ twinkle _ of his lady’s eyes or the  _ curve _ of her face or the  _ feel of her branches between his claws _ , he just wanted to  _ work _ , to  _ bury _ himself in his papers,  _ burrow _ and  _ hide _ in the monotony as he had the dirt in his wyrm form, but every time his mind just seemed to stray back to  _ her _ and every time he felt his chest  _ ache _ and  **_ache_ ** until finally it felt as if he’d just split open under the strain-

_ Splat. _

The Pale King startled at the sudden noise. A beat of silence followed before he heard it again.

_ Splat. _

_ Splat, splat splat. _

..There was water dripping onto his papers. But how?

_ Splat. _

Why? From where-?

_ Splat, splat, splat, splat. _

Gently he raised one claw to his face. The other, the one still gripping the quill, clenched around it tightly as he felt the first come away wet.

“Ah,” he said, voice quivering in a way that he loathed. “I see.”

Force had not been enough to stop his crying after all. 

He rose from the chair. Shoulders square, head high, just as he always carried himself. 

A break seemed to be in order; he liked to think his Root would have been proud of him for deciding that for himself. Perhaps even touched that it was herself who had persuaded him in the first place.

He brushed his tears away so harshly that it hurt. False confidence oozed from his stride as he left the room.

If the King let any more tears fall, there was not a word said about it.

He glowed so brightly the retainers could hardly stand to look at him; they merely bowed and scurried out of his way.

  
  


\--- 

The Pale King returned to the palace later that day, feeling no lessening of the pain in his heart, but with his head a little clearer.

His break had been spent wandering through the Queen’s Garden. There had been a struggle at first- a long moment of lingering at the entrance, feeling as if he were trespassing into some sacred unknown land. But he’d managed past that. The White Lady adored having him in her gardens and had always stressed that he was welcome to join her whenever he liked. He had refrained for the most part, either because he had some royal business to attend to, or because, despite his wife’s reassurances, he still felt like he’d be intruding.  _ (Another thing he wished he could have done differently.) _

In the end, he was glad to be proven wrong. The feel of soft grass under his feet and the warm sweet smelling air caressing his chitin had made him feel as safe and loved as his lady’s embrace had. It caused another ache within him, this one pleasantly bittersweet.

It was with reluctance that he left to go home. Night would fall soon, and it wasn’t as if he could sleep there, he reasoned. Besides he’d been away from his desk long enough. The poor retainers were probably drowning in paperwork by now.

This reasoning was logical and perfectly sound. It did nothing to assuage his desire to stay.

It was a good thing he had work to return to then; he’d indulged his emotions long enough today, and this would be a great way to prevent that from happening again.

The Pale King’s desk was almost completely bare when he returned to it. 

A single sheet of parchment lay in the middle. 

He had his suspicions about what it might read, and he felt like tearing it to pieces when he discovered them to be true.

It was from one of the retainers, informing him that they had been able to complete the rest of the week’s paperwork without issue. 

Logically, he knew that this should make him happy. Logically, he  _ knew  _ that they had been trying to help, to ease their king of his troubles. 

All he felt was tired defeat. 

He began his trek to his bedchambers, head high, shoulders squared. The muscles were stiff and sore. All the same he pressed on.

When he reached his destination he faltered for the second time that day, claw pausing in it’s reach for the door.

His lady’s bedchamber door, to the left of his was open. 

He did not know why or how this was. 

Nor did he know why the Hollow Knight was hunched at the foot of her bed, clutching desperately at the sheets, and shaking as if it could sob.

\---

“Master, are you absolutely  _ sure _ this is necessary?”

Divine was hardly one to question the troupe masters actions; he’d been leading them for centuries now, and hardly ever got them into trouble (that is to say, the very few types of trouble that they avoided-mischief and hijinks were the bread and butter of their mismatched little family).

But throwing their planned course out of the window and travelling nearly a thousand miles away from it just because his estranged sister-  _ who he hadn’t even mentioned having until now _ \- had up and died? That was  _ ridiculous _ ! 

Of course she couldn’t word her concerns in such a way. Though she considered Grimm to be a brother and loved him very deeply she would also do well to remember that he was the king of  _ literal nightmares _ and could be absolutely terrifying when the mood struck him. Particularly when that mood was an angry one.

But, as she had mentally coached herself before daring to slither into his tent, it wouldn’t do any of the troup any good to let the master act on any rash decisions that would distract them from their duties. The ritual might not be happening for the next few hundred years, but they still needed to fuel the nightmare heart. And while they  _ technically _ didn’t have to stick to the path the grimmkin had plotted out, they’d worked  _ really _ hard to draft it up! She still remembered the happy little chirps made by the one who’d shown her it. Completely trashing all their hard work over some petty feud was just disrespectful!

She’d explained this all to Brumm, expecting to receive support of her feelings, but getting a tsk and a head shake instead.

“Mrm. Master won’t see it that way. You know how he gets.”

She’d relented that  _ yes  _ she was aware of how petty Grimm could be, but felt that he would see reason once she explained her side of things. Brumm had merely sighed and shook his head once more. They both knew that Divine was as stubborn as their master was a petty bastard and that nothing he said would be enough to change her mind.

“Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And so, after a brief pep-talk to herself, she had slipped into Grimm’s quarters and posed her question.

When he turned to her, murder in those firey red eyes of his and a growl that sounded akin to metal being ground bubbling up his throat, she felt what little conviction she’d build within her topple quicker than a house of cards.

“You question my authority?” he hissed, and she felt her antennae droop instinctively.

“No not at all dearie, not at all! I was just wondering if you’ve considered the effects your actions-”

“Oh I’ve _ considered  _ all right,” he interrupted, eyes narrowing.

“-would have on the rest of the troupe.” Divine finished. Using what little nerve she had left she added, “Haven’t you thought about what the grimmkin might be feeling about this? They worked for months on those maps, and-”

Grimm growled that horrible growl again and she faltered. His glare seemed to hold the weight of a garapede. She felt absolutely crushed under it.

“Divine,” Grimm crooned, and she flinched at his soft tone- he only spoke like that when he was murderously angry. 

“Yes?” she squeaked. 

“Are you aware of how I came to know of my sister's death?”

She shook her head. It took much more effort than it should have.

“She was a higher being like me, you see,” he spoke slowly and clearly as one would an idiot child. “And higher beings tend to make a production out of everything we do. We’ve been known to stir up quite a bit of noise during our death throes, and Radiance was no exception.” 

He halted, looking thoughtful for a moment, and that only made Divine more nervous.

“I will grant that I have been expecting her to go for some time now, but I certainly didn’t expect to have  _ that bitch’s shrill voice piercing into my brain just as I was about to go to sleep _ !”

Divine cringed at her master’s sudden and furious shouts. She was deeply regretting not listening to Brum.

Grimm’s claws, shaking at his rage, grabbed at his cloak.

“Just  _ look _ at this tear! I was so shocked that I fell off the cieling and tore my brand new cloak to fucking shreds!”

There was, indeed, a rip in the fabric. It was a half a claw long. Just barely.

“I-I didn’t-” Divine stammered.

But Grimm was far from done with his rant. Nearly half an hour passed, the troupe master raging about his  _ poor, tattered clothing _ and how he still had a  _ monster of a headache from all that screaming  _ and not to mention all the  _ awful things Radiance had done to him in the past  _ and  _ gods how he hated her!  _

And on. 

And  _ on _ . 

_ And on. _

It seemed an eternity had passed before the speech ended, Divine doing her best to show sympathy to her master's woes throughout it, and when it finally did she nearly cried in relief.

“..but anyway, it isn’t as if there’s much I can do about that now. She’s already dead you know?” He sighed, then looked at her quizzically.

“You wanted something when you came in earlier didn’t you?” 

She pounced on this opportunity like a blood-thirsty hopper. 

“Just to offer my support to you, dearie. You need me to stay and listen a little while longer? I’m always happy to help.”

_ Please, _ she internally begged,  _ for the love of everything that is unholy, don’t say you need me to stay! _

He flashed a toothy grin at her. “Aww that’s sweet. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass on it for now. Got a few more calculations to run on this new route and-”

In one breath she interjected,“Oh don’t worry master, I’ll leave you to it! Good luck with that!” 

Before Grimm even had time to blink she’d slithered out of the tent. 

Brumm, watching his friend dart back into her quarters quicker than an angry squit, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Mrm. I told you so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the first time I've done a cliffhanger-ish chapter. It was fun! Also Smug!Brumm and Stubborn!Divine are another of my new favorite head-canons. I feel like they pairs SO well with Grimm's level of petty. And the grimmkin are just wholesome chirpy beans, and you bet your ass that I'm gonna try to find more ways to add them in. (Lord knows this fic needs some more happy moments) Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapters!


	4. My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King comes to grips with the fact that the Hollow Knight isn't as hollow as he thought it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there are some allusions to past child abuse in this (surprisingly not from PK, though the vessels are mentioned) so be warned! Also be prepared to get punched in the gut with the f e e l s. I promise life for Hollow gets better eventually.

_ This is it,  _ The Pale King thought.  _ It's finally happened. My mind’s resolve has cracked under the weight of my emotions, destroying any sanity I might have had left, and this is the first sign of my madness. _

The Hollow Knight, hunched at the foot of his wife’s bed, gripping the sheets and shaking as if it could sob. What  _ could _ have been his child morning the woman who  _ should _ have been it’s mother. 

One corpse mourning another. 

He almost laughed. What  _ cruel _ irony this hallucination was. His lady had coveted this for so long; for a thinking, feeling being that she could nurture and give her love to. 

Of course it only appears to have happened now that she’s gone. What a sense of humor the fates have, to give him such a twisted version of his desires. Like his retainer's well-meaning attempts to ease their king of his burdens, he could only feel tired defeat as he played the audience to this hallucination. 

That thought gave him a moment of pause.

His lady’s want for a child. 

The retainer’s attempts to help. 

_ That’s what this is, _ he realized. His people were giving him what they thought he needed. 

His eyes narrowed, boring holes into the vessel’s back. The way it gasped and sniveled and whimpered. So jarringly  _ life _ like that he doubted this developing theory. The retainers had no knowledge of his lady’s desires; he had been her sole confidant. How would they know what orders to give?

_ (What if this was an act of its own volition, the sign he had secretly hoped for alongside his lady? What if the Hollow Knight was not truly hollow-?) _

_ No.  _

He balled his claws into fists at his sides. He would not doubt the science of the void. That doubt had caused him more than enough pain before, and there was nothing cut as deep as false hope.

The Hollow Knight was  _ not _ sentient  _ (no mind to think) _ ; it acted on orders alone  _ (no will to break). _

Someone  _ had _ to have told it to grieve.

And he had every intention of finding out who.

“Hollow Knight!” he barked, storming towards it. It let out a sound akin to a gasp, shooting upright at the sound of it’s creator’s voice.

The Pale King hesitated in the doorway, the sight of his lady’s bedchamber bringing forth a familiar wave of sorrow. The scent of flora was thick within the air. Bluebells, white carnations and clematis bloomed in the lattice framing of the windows. If he looked to the left, he would find a portrait of himself alongside his wife, a gift from Lurien. To the right was her closet, the final resting place for gowns and robes never to be worn again.

Everything in this room was just so _ her _ that the wyrm nearly paused to take it all in, let the tides of his grief settle for a moment, lest they drown him.

Instead he pressed the tips of his claws deep into his chitin. Welcomed the pain, let it ground him. Once he was refocused he stepped through the threshold.

He ignored the change from marble to carpet under his feet. He  _ also _ ignored the gleam of the jewelry box on her bedside table.

By the time he reached the Hollow Knight’s side, it had already slipped into the rigid pose of a guard standing attention. It’s gaze seemed to be determinedly fixed in front of it.

“What are you doing here? Who commanded you to do this?” he demanded. Though the vessel was incapable of speech  _ (no voice to cry suffering)  _ it certainly  _ was _ capable of walking out of this room and leading him to the bug he had asked for.

The Hollow Knight made no move to do such a thing. It only stood, stiff, a breathing statute. The Pale King felt dread form a pit in his stomach. Pain sparked in his claws as he clenched them again.

“I  _ order  _ you to take me to the person that gave you these instructions,” he urged, firmer this time.

The Hollow Knight continued to ignore his directives. Had it been ordered to do this as well?

Though it was very uncouth, the Pale King allowed a frustrated growl to escape his throat. Droplets of blood fell from his fists and onto the carpet. He wasn’t going to get any answers out of this stand-still.

“You will at least have the decency to look me in the eye while I speak to you, whether you choose to ignore my commandments or not.”

Finally there was movement- the vessel’s shoulders jerked inward, the way a living bug might flinch in discomfort. Then, with a hesitance the Pale King would never have expected from it, the Hollow Knight obeyed.

On the Hollow Knight's face, following the same curved outline of his wife’s, was a steady stream of inky black void, flowing from its eyes.

His terror was a starving garapede, clambering through his veins and devouring him whole no matter how hard he tried to pry away it’s jaws.

This  _ wasn’t _ happening.

This wasn’t  _ possible _ . 

They were the  _ vessel _ , the  _ Hollow Knight  _ and they weren’t even a “they” but an _ it _ , a shadow of what could have been his child. 

“How..who..?” he couldn’t finish the sentence, the rest of the words failing to climb out of his throat. He felt the garapede swallow them as they fell.

The Hollow Knight, understanding what would have been asked, raised a claw and tapped the chest-plate of its armour. The tears began to flow harder, the taps turning to frantic smacking, carapace shaking in silent sobs.

The Pale King made one last effort to cling to blissful ignorance: _ It can’t be happening, I must have gone mad or someone must have told it do this because this  _ just isn’t possible _ - _

-But it was made in vain. 

His doubts, his many pestering,  _ pleading _ doubts had been valid.

The discarded vessels, in their brief moments of life, had minds to think, wills to break, and had wished for voices to cry suffering. He had damned thousands of innocents in his pursuit of the impossible, and had nearly damned his kingdom in the same way.

If not for Root, their child would have been locked away in eternal suffering.

“What have I done?” he whispered.

The Hollow Knight did not respond; it  _ (no,  _ **_they_ ** _ ) _ merely continued to weep.

Claws hesitantly stretched in front of him, he took a step forward. When the Hollow Knight made no indication that they would fend him off, he took another.

The Pale King, for the very first time, embraced his child. His head barely reached their chest-plate, making the hug a bit more awkward, but he did not care. All four of his arms wrapped around their shell gingerly, fearing he would hurt them further if he pressed too hard.

The Hollow Knight did not share their fathers reservations. They sunk to their knees, leaning into the touch desperately, wrapping their own arms around their father’s small body in a tight squeeze.  _ (The Pale King wondered if that was because they feared him leaving, and his heart broke further.) _

He pulled his child closer. They buried their head in his shoulder, staining his robes black with void.

The Pale King might have failed as a scientist, a ruler, and a husband, but in that moment he promised to himself that he would not continue to fail as a father.

\---

“It’s..about a tree? No-no _ trea-ty _ not tree! The treaty of.. _ Unn and Root _ ..was d-r-a.. _ drafted _ following the brief..s-k-u-”

“Are you quite sure that’s the letter ‘u’ you’re seeing?” Monomon gently prodded. The young pill-bug, who was sitting next to her at her desk, squinted at the acid tube in front of him.

She watched as he tilted his head this way and that, as if it would somehow help make sense of the scribbles in front of him.

A few more moments passed. Quirrel made a distressed noise.

Monomon put a comforting tentacle on his shoulder, giving it an encouraging rub. The patience of a teacher (any teacher worth the shell on their backs, at least) had no limits. She was more than happy to wait for a student to think through a problem and even more so when they were as young as Quirrel was.

“Take all the time you need,” she said. “The words aren’t in a rush to go anywhere!”

Her son glanced up at her, smiling at her joke, before returning his gaze to the script. It was noticeably more determined this time about.

A few more moments passed. Monomon continued rubbing soothing circles into Quirrel’s shoulder. She considered humming a tune but decided against it last minute- that would be too much outside stimuli, a distraction.

She wasn’t sure if he realized this, but the fact that he could decipher a single letter of her code was an impressive feat on it’s own. Many adults had tried, and failed, to learn the archivist’s scripture in the past and none had come so far as Quirrel had. Each day that passed Monomon found herself becoming more and more impressed with the young bug’s intelligence. His ability to grasp theories, the surprisingly astute questions he asked-what bright mind he possessed! She  _ very  _ was proud to call herself his mother.

  
  


“ _ ‘I’ _ ! It’s an  _ ‘i’ _ !” Quirrel’s sudden declaration startled her from her thoughts. Her tentacle jerked away in her surprise. She made a quick recovery, though, and offered it as a raised palm, the universal sign for a high-five.

“ _ Very _ good Quirrel, very good indeed!”

He eagerly pushed his own hand into hers. It was dwarfed by his mother’s larger appendage, and Monomon had to restrain herself from squealing.  _ (This opinion was biased, she knew, but she could swear that her son was the most adorable little bug to ever walk this earth.)  _

“Do you think you can tell me what the rest of the word says?”

Another discouraged look flitted across his face. “I can try, mother-madame.” 

She allowed herself to smile at his response. When Quirrel had first come to live with her she could not, for the life of her, get him to drop the formal title of ‘madame’. That name would not have been such a pain to live with, were she ignorant to the reasoning behind it. 

His biological parents had been  _ very _ insistent on being called ‘sir’ and ‘madame’, never mother or father, and their way of enforcing the rule was far from kind. There was still a hairline crack in Quirrel’s mask that had been irreparable, and Monomon felt her heart break a little every time she saw it.

(Out of all the years of schooling and learning she had gone through, none of them gave her any answers as to how two people could treat their own child-especially one as sweet as Quirrel- in such a way. She tried not to dwell on this too often, for all thoughts like these were only good for making her angry.)

After his third week with her he had slipped and started to say ‘mother’ instead, only to rush and try to say ‘madame’ right after. The poor thing had nearly burst into tears, so scared that his new parent would react just as harshly as his previous. Monomon had hugged him tightly, assured him that she was not mad at him, and that he could call her whatever he pleased. 

And ‘mother-madame’ had stuck.

“..s-k-i-r-oh! It says  _ skirmish!  _ “The treaty of Unn and Root was drafted following the brief skirmish on the border of..G-r-e- _ greenpath _ and.. Hallownest.” Hey, that’s where we live!” Quirrel added. 

“As a matter of fact, it is.” Monomon replied, bemused.

“Why were Madame Unn and Madame Queen fighting in the first place?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Monomon lied. She tilted her head, appearing to consider something. “Perhaps the rest of the text has the answers?”

“Oh-right!” He looked down, shy. “I can’t say it’ll be perfect, but I’ll do my best to read it to you, mother-madame. Promise.”

She smiled, and rested her tentacle upon his shoulder once more.

“That’s all I would ask of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could not resist adding in some best-boy Quirrel and his mother-madame! I thought their cuteness would balance the hurt with our main bugs. Once again, thanks for reading, hope you enjoy! <3


	5. There will be an answer, let it be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took much longer to write than it should have- she did not want to be written! But I managed through it and I think it came out pretty okay! I'm excited to get this out of the way so we can move forward plot-wise. Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explaining the abstract concept of future-vision was a fun challenge. Also: brief mentions of suicide! Not detailed but alluded to!

It had taken much deliberation and several hours of pacing the length of his bedchambers, but the Pale King had finally made up his mind. 

He was going to consult his foresight.

In theory, this seemed to be a rather quick and easy decision to make. He was struggling to find the way forward, to solve the difficult formula of making things right for his child. (Gods above, he was a father now. Would he ever grow used to such a title?) 

He also possessed the ability to observe possible futures. A simple task, it would seem.

In truth things weren’t so black and white. 

For one, peering into the realm beyond time and reality was no easy task, whether you were a higher being or not. The Pale King had to enter a very deep meditative state, and empty his mind of any and all thought. Any slight disturbance could break this trance and force him to start the process all over. 

Once that was achieved he would channel all the soul in his being and use it’s power to cast his mind out-almost like some sort of fishing net- into the great unknowns ahead of him. From there he could sort through all of the ‘maybes’ and ‘what if’s’ that made up the nebulous ever changing planes we call the future.

That brought him to his next, more obvious, point. There was no certainty or consistency to these realities. They were merely the concepts that _most likely_ lay ahead. Concepts of realities formed by decisions. And decisions were formed by perceptions, bias, judgement, and ultimately _people_ \- some of the most fickle, unpredictable things of all.

For these purposes he only dared to use his foresight in the most dire of times.

He had used it almost daily in the years before the vessel experiments, casting out his net _again_ and _again_ , pleading it to reel in _any_ other solution, anything besides the unthinkable horrors it kept bringing him. It had been the definition of insanity; trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Only when the bodies had begun to overflow their graves and the whispers of his subject’s prayers had faded to almost nothing did he cast the first egg into the void.

His foresight had given him no ideas as to just how many vessels he would have to watch fall into the abyss. It hadn’t given him any sort of inkling that his wife would sacrifice herself to end the infection, either.

He took a deep breath. Held it in, _one, two, three,_ and let it out _one, two, three._ His mind had to be empty. Hollow. No room for crying over what might have been; he could do that later.

The Pale King shifted in his spot, fiddling with the rug beneath him until it was just right (the floor in his bedchambers was a hard marble and he could not stand to meditate on it for long).

He found the right position and settled. He eased his mind into the meditation slowly; first he recounted his place in the world (Hallownest, within the white palace, inside his bedchamber, on the floor) then recited all the things he could feel (the chill of the air, the spider-silk of his robe, and the fluffy rug beneath him) until he had nothing let to do but count his breaths. 

After an unknown amount of time even that ceased. There was nothing left; time for the next step.

With a pulse of force he concentrated his soul, feeling the pressure build higher and threaten to burst his carapace open from the inside. 

Then, he cast the net, and felt the familiar strangeness of being propelled forward and outward. Some part of him registered his consciousness divorcing itself from his body, the latter slumping forward, empty.

Flashes of possibility flickered by; he saw himself, alone in his workshop and the Hollow Knight locked in his lady’s bedchamber to weep. Would that have been what happened if the retainers hadn’t finished his work? He had no time to think on this, for the next vision was already taking its place. Himself, again, flanked by the Hollow Knight. Was that Monomon they were talking to? Why would- 

Just like that it was gone. Dozens more came and went, the likelihood of their occurrence too low from them to provide much insight. 

The retainers, telling him that the Hollow Knight had cast themselves into the junkpit- _gone._ A letter informing him that his child had been slain inside the Colosseum of Fools- _gone._ The Hollow Knight, scrabbling at the abyss entrance, begging him to let them return to void- _gone._

Many more disturbing probabilities fluttered by, and the Pale King’s heart sank further with each. So _many_ futures found him a lone widower in an empty palace. A thought discouraging enough to deter more compliant bugs for searching further. The Pale King had never claimed to be such a thing (was, in fact, one of the _most_ stubborn bugs alive according to his wife) and was undeterred from his mission.

  
  


This labor proved to be somewhat fruitful; a few more positive fates came in. None of them were concrete enough to last long, however, and disappeared moments after he’d found them.

Finally, finally along came the one he’d been looking for. 

Like many of its predecessors the Pale King’s vision featured himself and the Hollow Knight, but _unlike_ the others this one did not feature death of any sort, nor did it dissipate in his grasp. 

They were surrounded by foliage, sweet smelling flora.. talking to one another?-no _he_ was talking, the Hollow Knight was merely nodding and gesticulating. The Pale King peered closer. The details became more clear. The scent of flowers was strong, but not overwhelming, and the greenery was vibrant around the pair, lively from thousands of years of care. _(The Queen’s Garden, his lady’s garden)_

He heard his own voice speaking; it was solemn, quiet.

“..This was your mother’s favorite place in all the kingdom. Have you ever seen it before?” He heard himself say.

The Hollow Knight _(not a knight, just Hollow, that’s the name they prefer)_ shook their head. They made a series of strange gestures in response.

_Did you come here too?_

Somehow he was able to make sense of these movements, translate them into words. Did they know this form of communication _(sign language)_ already? _(No, Monomon taught them, said it was important for developing the confidence to express themselves)_

His other self hesitated, looked away. “Not as often as she would have liked. I had always felt myself to be an intruder. This was her space, the one piece of Hallownest that I would never dare to claim to. It felt like a..violation, almost, for me to enter these gardens.”

More gestures on Hollow’s part. _I can understand,_ they signed, _feel the same about many things. Not here though. I like this place. Smells good. Like home._

His other self was quiet for a moment. Slowly, he returned his gaze to his child with uncharacteristic tenderness.

“Yes. It _does_ , doesn’t it?”

This was enough to convince the Pale King to choose this destiny. He pushed himself even _further_ forward, felt himself dipping into and through the vision, following the path it would take him down.

Once again, the possibilities blurred into fleeting glimpses; Monomon teaching Hollow to write, Hollow sparring with Herrah’s _(his)_ daughter, the smell of baked goods and the sound of bustling kitchens-

And, quite abruptly, everything turned the crimson color of blood. 

Everything was an overwhelming blur; the frantic pulses of a beating heart _(the heart of nightmare’s, an endless symphony conducted by the grim troupe)_ , an accordion playing a dreary march, scarlet flames that never go out within the most ruby red eyes he’d ever seen-

-And his grip was slipping, faltering, his mind rocketing backwards faster and faster and _faster_ -

His mind crashed back into his body so hard that it jerked forward, colliding loudly onto hard ground. A sickening _snap_ followed, one of the horns on his head earning an unsightly crack. Something he would be _mortified_ to discover later, after he’d regained his composure.

The Pale King groaned, pushing himself away from the floor. This feat took both sets of his arms and each trembled in the effort. Exhaustion was creeping upon him faster than a primal aspid. 

The world swayed for a moment after the king was upright again, and he blinked rapidly as if that could shoo his dizziness away. 

“Well,” he said to the empty room, “it would seem I have a letter to draft to Monomon.”

The words seemed to rouse him. Using the bed behind him as leverage, he pulled himself to weary feet. His vision tipped this way and that, a drunken gruzz fly that had lost its way. Once again he tried to blink this disorientation away. It provided no aid.

Longingly he gazed at his bedroom door. The ten feet between him and it seemed to stretch into miles. He took an experimental step forward; a mistake that nearly pitched him onto his backside. Claws scrambling for purchase, he found himself flopping backwards onto his king-size bed with a soft _‘oof’_.

He tried to find the strength to lift his head, wanting to take a last look at his exit. A failed excursion.

“..Perhaps a few minutes rest beforehand would not hurt,” he decided. 

Allowing his eyes to flutter shut, sleep found the wyrm with ease.

For the first time since the White Lady’s death, he slept through the entire night undisturbed.

  
  


\---

_My King,_

_It is with great honor that I count myself as the first to congratulate you on your first steps into parenthood! You might find my enthusiasm a bit queer, but as a mother myself I simply cannot contain the excitement I feel for you! Things might seem daunting at first (especially with the unique situation you find yourself to be in, if you’ll pardon my honesty) but I can assure you that it will all be more than worth it in the end. The journey will not be an easy one, far from it, but I have faith that my king and his child shall endure it well._

_Ah, but enough of my ramblings- I would be more than happy to welcome the young princeling as my student. Though I’m sure you're already aware of this I will do my absolute best to educate them._

_And perhaps my next remark is a bit out of line (if it is I humbly ask you to grant me pardon) but I have a son, as I‘ve mentioned many times before. Maybe a friendship will blossom between the two? One can certainly hope._

_I eagerly await the arrival of my student, and am ever grateful that I may offer my servitude to his majesty._

_\-- Monomon, the teacher._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha she said 'queer' haha funnnny


	6. Do I feel too much?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale King and Hollow begin to tentatively mend their relationship, make a very brief visit into the capital, and a wyrm's foresight is proven true. (Trigger warning for bad mental health and accidental enabling of it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a bit since I've posted. I re-wrote this, like seven different times last week (I was on fall break :D) and either changed my mind about my idea, or had an idea I liked but hated how it had turned out. I've made my peace with the fact that I'm not gonna like this chapter no matter how it comes out, and this one sets us up for what I want to tackle next chapter, so I've deemed it decent enough to post.

The Pale King almost dared to call this new routine.. _ normal _ . Such a foregin concept, normality. Half of his subjects had been lost to the infection, countless of his children to the void, and his wife to the Radiance-it was impossible, almost  _ wrong _ , for his life to start to make sense again.

Yet here he sat, at the head of the dining table, with his child, Hollow, sitting to the left of him. Eating breakfast like any other family.

Well not  _ exactly _ like any other family, he amended, seeing Hollow separate the void in their throat into what could pass for a mouth. He had flinched away the first time he’d witnessed this feat, but was relatively unfazed by this point. The retainers were a bit more queasy than he, and made it a point to evacuate the dining hall as soon as they could. 

Being a creature composed of mostly void they did not  _ technically _ need to eat-they were more than capable of sustaining themselves on soul alone- but they insisted on having breakfast with him anyways. The Pale King suspected that had to do more with wanting his company than any desire for actual food (though the palace staff’s cooking  _ was _ the best in all the lands, as one would expect). 

He had made it clear to them (and the retainers for that matter) that they were relieved of their duties and that they need not feel obligated to follow him around and wait for orders anymore. They had insisted on accompanying him anyways. 

He had given them a bedchamber of their own, and suggested that they decorate it with things they enjoyed. They had stared at him blankly at this remark.

_ I don’t know what I like,  _ they had signed to him. Save for their nail and bed, the room continued to remain empty.

Getting them to actually sleep in it was another issue; they were quite adamant on sleeping in  _ his  _ room, most nights. On the rare days where they could be persuaded into their own bed they would refuse to sleep at all unless he stayed by their side the entire night.

The Pale King felt that after everything they had been through it would be wrong to deny Hollow of their wishes, so he compiled without hesitation.

Truth be told, he had found their presence more comforting then he would have expected, so he made no effort to dissuade them from joining him. They wanted to eat breakfast with their father? They could go right ahead.

It had been the same way with Root, he thought with a bittersweet smile. Though she had never even attempted to ingest any of the foods he liked (“I doubt I  _ could _ even if I wanted to,” she would remark, chuckling) she had been more than happy to join him at the table and participate in idle conversation. 

His happy expression quickly faded to a frown. Of course she had no need for meats and vegetables as he; her structure was that of a plant, and she was able to make her own nutrients..through..

..Photosynthesis. Absorbing light and converting its energy into fuel.

…

He stabbed into his meal with unnecessary force. The noise was enough to startle Hollow, who looked up to him, food momentarily forgotten.

_ You okay?  _ They signed after they had put down their utensils. (Their lettering had improved, he noted.)

He managed a smile.“Just fine,” he replied, signing out his answer as well as vocalizing it. 

_ Sure not mad? Looked upset. Sad. I do something?  _ The motions were rapid, frantic. A familiar reaction, he thought with a pang.

The monarch dropped the facade with a sigh. “You’ve done nothing wrong Hollow. I was just..” he struggled to find the words. The familiar ache pulsed under his carapace, tugged behind his eyes. He took a deep breath, as if to dispel his hurt. He would  _ not _ cry damn it. Not in front of them.

“..I was lost in my thoughts,” he finished lamely. 

A pause. The wyrm got the impression that his words had not been believed in the slightest.

Hollow made like they were going to sign something else, before hesitantly returning to their meal instead.

The two fell back into silence.

…

…

...

He should say something, The Pale King knew. Shouldn’t have let Hollow discourage themselves from voicing their mind, couldn’t let this horrid quiet continue lest the two of them go mad from it.

Say something, but  _ what _ ? Asking what they had wanted to say earlier was off the table. That moment had long since passed. He didn’t even consider elaborating further on his own emotions.

That left him with the basics, then. The weather was pointless to comment on seeing as there  _ wasn’t  _ anything to comment on. Asking how their food was would be too risky-he wasn’t sure if they possessed a sense of taste, and didn’t want to chance upsetting them. He already knew how they had slept last night (fitfully, and in their own bed) so that was out too.

..Should he comment about _ his  _ night’s rest? No, he shouldn’t. That was weird. Why had he even thought that an option in the first place?

He felt the overwhelming urge to slam his head into the dining table. This shouldn’t be so difficult. He was a  _ king _ . A _ ruler _ . He had fought wars and slaughtered countless foes, built an entire empire from the ground up. And yet it was _ here _ , in his own castle, by his own awkwardness, that he was defeated? Pathetic.

How he wished his lady were here. She had always seemed to navigate through socialites with such ease.

He could almost picture it: she would donn her morning robes (the one with patterns of violets stitched on), take her seat at the opposite end of table, tease him as greeting (“You are so adorable when you’re sleepy!”), ask how he slept, what his plans were for the day..

Oh. He could just tell them his plans for today. Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? Not important.

Nervously, he cut a hunk of vengeful meat in half with his fork. Cleared his throat. It gained Hollow’s attention, and they glanced up at him apprehensively.

“I was thinking of paying the City of Tears a visit today,” he said, looking anywhere but their face. The half became a quarter. “Would you like to join me?”

They froze in what might have been shock. Whether it was at his suggestion or the fact that he was the one who had made it was up for debate.

The Hollow Knight had existed as a tool with purpose, something to be trained and finely honed. Besides their mother’s funeral, it had no reason to ever set foot outside the castle, and so it hadn’t.

(He still cringed at how little they had known of the world they had very nearly died for. Really gunning for that  _ “Father of the Year”  _ award, wasn’t he?)

The Pale King really had no good reason for his reluctance to leave his home. His desire to hide from the world was a reason, yes, but it hardly was a  _ good _ one. Getting out of the palace would do both of them good.

From the enthusiastic nod they were giving him, they thought the same. 

The Pale King sighed, though it was out of relief for once.

“Very well. We shall make haste to the station once you have finished your-” He was abruptly cut off by Hollow widening their void-mouth drastically, gripping their plate by both sides and dumping the rest of its contents down their gullet.

They locked eyes with him once they had finished, setting the plate down quietly.

He made no attempt to finish his own breakfast-he could safely say he’d lost his appetite.

“..Or right now, if you so wish.”

  
  


\---

The king and young princling were not the only ones using the Stag Stations today, and the aforementioned king was kicking himself for not realising this beforehand. He had been so preoccupied by Hollow’s fascination for the stags ( _ They can talk? _ , they had signed. “We certainly can, young sire!” had been the old stag’s amused response.) and bracing himself for the nauseating ride he was about to subject himself to, that he hadn’t even considered taking the Royal Elevator.

And now, thanks to his lack of foresight (oh, the irony) every pair of eyes in the station was trained on them. 

Though he was still atop the stag their stage-whispering was still able to reach him.

_ “It’s the King!” _

_ “Why’s he come to the city?” _

_ “So sad to see him without the queen..” _

_ “Who’s that bug beside him? Some noblebug?” _

_ “There’s that odd bug from the White Lady’s funeral!” _

_ “They look so strange..” _

The Pale King was well-seasoned with the attention his presence garnered; he did not like it, but he could handle it.

Hollow, however, had absolutely no idea what to do with it. This was made clear by the panicked, pleading stare they were giving him.

_ What’s going on? _ they signed,  _ why is everybody looking at me? _

That had not gone unnoticed by their crowd, which was steadily growing in number. A few gasped. Others looked on inquisitively. There were a few bold souls that had the gall to glare in disgust.

_ “What was that?!” _

_ “I wonder if they’re deaf..” _

_ “Must be part of some gang of some sort, throwing around symbols like that.” _

_ “And right in front of the king, too. Disgraceful is what it is!” _

_ “What do you mean ‘gang signs’-it’s sign language!” _

Hollow looked on the verge of a meltdown. Void tears brimmed the edges of their eyes. He had to act, and fast.

The Pale King squared his shoulders, raised his head high, and turned to address his people.

“We shall be returning at a later date, for an important announcement. Hopefully it will be better received then.”

He had pulled that line completely out of a hat, but it did the trick. Gossip swept through the gathered bugs like an angry tide.

The Pale King leaned down, closer to the old stag’s head. He couldn’t quite reach with his height, but he got close enough.

“To the Queen’s Garden’s, please.”

The old stag huffed in acknowledgement and sped down the tunnel.

He knew what this decision would lead to, and that it was the right one if his foresight was to be trusted.

Still, he couldn’t help but dread the visions of the Beast’s daughter and the grimm troupe that had followed it.

One could only hope that, whatever the future held, the two would be prepared for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Hollow is suffering from separation anxiety disorder (SAD), due to White Lady's death. They are terrified that PK is gonna leave one day and never come back like their mom did, and PK is bad with mental health, so he ends up forming a similar sort of dependence on them (he is a lot more lonely and suffering than he thinks). Yes, the ending scene was them going into Queen's Garden so that the future vision that PK had of them bonding can come to fruition, and yes that means that we're gonna get into Hornet and Grimm shenanigans soon! And woo! Old Stag cameo! I also put it a little hint about WL's death in here, wonder if you guys can find it..


	7. The time has come for moving on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! This just took me a long time to write! I knew it would be long because I had a lot of things in mind, but this became like a SUPER chapter. Hopefully that makes up for the long wait?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!WARNING!!!!! ALLUSIONS TO PAST NON-CON! If you wish to skip, it begins at "(Herrah's claws)" and ends at "Finally, he snapped." Nothing was directly said (though another remark hints at it as well) it is implied! Also slight mentions of Child Abuse (Herrah) but not too heavy. Be safe, and enjoy!

The Pale King considered himself to be a rather tolerant man; one had to be, when they were in a position such as his. Though he loved all his people dearly, even he had to admit that some of the upper class bugs in his court could be.. _ unpleasant _ , to put it nicely. They whined and groaned and wailed at the most trivial things, and rarely stopped until they felt they’d gotten their way;

“I want the teacher who gave my  _ precious baby _ detention fired! It’s  _ child abuse _ !”

“This person wouldn’t hire me even after I told them about my noble heritage! It’s  _ treason _ !” 

“One of the city guards towed my carriage! It’s _ theft _ !”

The list, unfortunately, went on.

No matter how ridiculous he thought the issue to be, the wyrm would always nod sympathetically from atop his throne, as if he too knew the strife of unruly children, lack of applicable job skills, and the inability to read street signs.

When faced with these complaints, he made it a point to be fair and civil to all parties, no matter how  _ irritated _ he was with his court’s behavior. He never shirked these duties onto any retainers or courtiers, either.

He was the king; he could, and would, endure it all with grace and poise befitting that title.

The Pale King had held his new status as father to the same standard. A monarch, he reasoned, was something akin to a parent; a leader who guided and provided for his children.

It would be a challenge without his lady at his side, but he would need no aid in meeting it with the same grace and poise as always.

...Or so he had thought.

He loathed to admit this-deeply and truly  _ loathed _ it- but his endurance for Hollow’s behavior was beginning to dwindle.

_ Every _ mealtime,  _ every _ meeting,  _ every _ court hearing,  _ every  _ waking moment of  _ every _ day they were right there, breathing down his neck. Even in the moments where they  _ weren’t _ awake-whether that be in their own, frustratingly bare, bedchamber or his own- they were still  _ there _ . 

He hadn’t put very much thought into this shadowing, in the beginning; the two had made quite the transition with their relationship, he reasoned, and they would need a bit to gauge the proper boundaries. (It had been a little endearing, actually, that they were so excited to spend time with their father.)

The Pale King had been sure that with time Hollow’s clinging would fade. 

But as days turned into weeks, with Hollow showing no signs of moving any further into independence, he began to grow concerned.

“Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing, Hollow?” he asked. “All these political affairs must be quite a bore for you. You needn’t my permission to leave the palace, you know.”

Not missing a beat, Hollow had vehemently shaken their head.  _ This is where you are, _ they signed,  _ so this is where I want to be. _

Apprehensive, the wyrm decided that they simply needed more time to adjust. It would be remiss to deny them that, so he made no moves to discourage this behavior. He did, however, make an effort to subtly encourage them to branch out a bit more.

The wyrm’s other attempts at gentle prodding had been met with the same stubborn answer.  _ This is where you are, so this is where I want to be. _

(“One can only wonder where they inherited such tenacity,” he thought dryly to himself.).

Weeks became a month. Concern became frustration.

Hollow’s constant presence threatened to suffocate him. That wasn’t even an exaggeration by this point-he couldn’t go  _ anywhere _ without them following.

Again, and  _ again _ he made polite suggestions for Hollow to spend some time apart from him.  _ Again _ and  _ again _ , they refused. 

Even the royal retainers had tried stepping in, offering to help their young princling decorate their room, or making subtle suggestions for them to partake in their own activities. It had been a valiant effort, but one made in vain. Hollow simply would not budge.

This tension’s brewing was a slow one, but as these affairs are wont to do, it eventually reached a boil.

\---

It had already been a very  _ long _ day for the Pale King.

With the infection ended and the official mourning period over, affairs with the other sovereigns had to be dealt with. Most of the day had consisted of doing just that, through meetings with each individual leader.

_ (Were his lady here to see it, she would have found the sight of the retainers fussing over dusted conference room chairs and straightening curtains refreshing; it had been an age since they had hosted any of the monarchs within their home. She had always taken such joy in playing the hostess. _

_ Being the introverted soul he was, the wyrm did not share the sentiment.) _

Things had begun amicably enough. Vespa had always been the most tolerable to deal with, so he elected to meet with her first. This worked well for both parties; the Hive queen was eager to get things up and running again. The two leaders were able to come to terms that were satisfactory to both sides. Trade would be reinstated, the borders were being swiftly reopened, taxes would remain the same, and repairs to the Tramway would be made with haste.

The Mantis Lords had been unable to make a personal appearance-there was still the aftermath of the Traitor Lord to tend to- and had sent a diplomat in their stead. It had been a lengthy, tense dialogue but an efficient one; the Stagway would be allowed to reopen, on the condition that it be used for government business (specifically legal correspondence and delivering wares) only. The lords had been very adamant that there be no tourism from Hallownest. Other than a heated debate towards the end over trade tariffs, the meeting had ended with both parties satisfied enough.

The third meeting of the day is where things began to take a turn.

Unn’s diplomat, who the king was going to assume was new to the job, had ironically been very  _ un _ diplomatic.

They had requested, quite _strongly_ in fact, that the Queen’s Garden be reinstated as part of Greenpath. Hallownest, the diplomat had argued, had no business claiming the land in the first place- _Unn_ had created it, therefore it was rightfully hers. Besides, they added, The White Lady had passed on, so the ‘Treaty of Unn and Root’ was null and void. What use would Hallownest have for it without her around _anyways_?

Had Hollow not been in the room, The Pale King’s rebuttal would have been far louder and more colorful than it was. It took a tremendous effort on his part not to leap over the table and tear that moronic bug’s throat out with his teeth. 

As you might have guessed, the Pale King did not agree to relinquishing the territory. 

The diplomat was dismissed from the palace shortly after, a retainer carrying a letter to Unn herself shortly after. 

And then of course, he had met with..Herrah..

Out of all the meetings that day this one had been the most trying. He had spent most of their discussion avoiding her gaze, desperately suppressing the urge to vomit. 

It was pathetic. He was a king. A  _ god _ . Such primal cowering was beneath him. And yet, after all this time, he found that she had the same power over him as she had back then.

(Times like this made him long for the days Hallownest and Deepnest were warring provinces. The fear stirring in his belly would have made much more sense.)

Centuries seemed to pass before the two monarch’s could come to agreement, but they eventually did, and Herrah took her leave. On her way out, she jested that he need not be so tense; “There will be no biting this time around-unless you were to _ ask _ for it of course!” 

She had cackled, finding her remark humorous. He had not.

Exhausted, the Pale king had wanted nothing more than to curl up into the safety of his bed, pretend the rest of the outside world didn’t exist for a while.

And then Hollow had trailed after him on his way to his bedchambers, begging to spend  _ just one more _ night in his room,  _ just one more.  _

He told them they could do that tomorrow but he wanted to be alone right now, he was tired. They continued to beg. He told them no again. They insisted. He tried to get to the door without them. They grabbed his robes.

_ (Herrah’s claws dug into his chitin so hard it was a wonder it didn’t pop under its grip. “Admit it, wyrm, you love my pincers on your throat,” she rasped, her breath hot against his neck. He squirmed under her, back pressed against the bed, trapped under her weight trapped he was  _ trapped _ -) _

Finally, he snapped.

“I have had it up to  _ here  _ with this behavior, young princeling!” he spat. He violently yanked his arm free, the other slamming the half-way opened bedroom door shut. 

Hollow flinched at their parent’s sudden outburst.

“I have been patient. I have given you all the time in the world to correct your behavior. I have given you opportunity after opportunity for you to realise that your constant shadowing is both unwanted and unacceptable. You are  _ far _ too old to be cleaving at my skirts like-like some newborn _ grub _ .” 

Are you truly so  _ dense _ that my frustrations with you go unnoticed, or do you ignore them purposefully?” 

Hollow made like they were going to sign, but stopped when their arms raised halfway, encircling around themselves in a loose hug instead.

It infuriated him. He crossed both sets of his arms in front of his chest, fists clenching angrily together, and mustered up the most disapproving glare he could.

“Don’t you try to guilt your way out of this one. You’re a very intelligent bug, Hollow, I  _ know _ that you understand that this isn’t normal.”

He paused, waited for a response. Hollow kept their gaze on the floor. His eyes narrowed further.

“It has become quite obvious that things will not change on their own, and that my enabling has only worsened things. So here’s what’s going to happen; you are going to march straight back to your  _ own  _ room, by  _ yourself _ -” they whimpered and tightened their embrace- “get into your  _ own  _ bed by  _ yourself- _ ” they whined again- “go to sleep by  _ yourself _ , wake up by  _ yourself _ , and leave me to my own devices for the remainder of the day.”

There was a pregnant pause as the Pale King waited for Hollow to comply, growing more and more aggravated as they did not. His fists clenched ever tighter. Chitin sliced open like paper under the sharp tips of his claws.

“Have I not made myself clear enough?!  _ I said GO _ !” he shouted, pointing toward their room for emphasis.

Hollow promptly burst into tears.

_I’m sorry I made you mad!_ they managed to sign. _I’m sorry! I’m sorry!_ Their claws trembled, the panicked words barely legible. _Please! Please don’t make me go! I don’t want you to leave!_ _Please don’t leave!_ _Don’t leave! Don’t leave! Don’t leave!_

The Pale King tried to hold his glare, he _ really _ did, but ended up dropping it with a sigh. The fires of his anger had burnt out, doused by Hollow’s tears. He only felt bone deep exhaustion.

Gods, he was tired. So, very  _ very _ tired.

He forced his hands to relax and used them to bring Hollow into an embrace, cradling their head close to his chest. Pale blood smeared onto their shell from his palms.

“I won’t leave. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” he soothed. Their void tears stained his pristine white robes an inky black, and his chitin froze painfully when the two met. He did not relinquish his hold.

That had been the final straw. 

His promise was kept; he held them until their face was dry, and stayed right at their side until they were sound asleep in his bed.

If they would be upset to find that he took a quick break from their side to draft a letter to Monomon, that was their problem.

His writing desk was in the same room, after all.

  
  


\----

_ Your majesty, _

_ I cannot say that the contents of your last correspondence surprised me. Hollow has been through so very much in their life, and it is a given that certain issues would develop as consequence.  _

_ The loss of a loved one-whether it be a close friend, a parent, or a lover- can have a tremendous impact on the psyche. I am fortunate enough to be unfamiliar with this experience, but I know enough to have some understanding of what they might be feeling. I would not wish this sort of pain on anyone. _

_ But I digress. It is my counsel that his majesty seeks, not my ramblings. And I would offer you such a thing were I qualified to do so. I am sad to inform you, my liege, that I am not. _

_ Hollow needs help, help that only someone well versed in the ways of the mind and heart can offer. My supply of knowledge is vast, I admit, but my field of science is too far from that of psychology for my services to be of any use.  _

_ However, I do happen to know of someone who would be willing to offer her aide; she’s a strange one but the very best in her field from what I have heard. She resides in Dirtmouth, a township blessedly free of prying eyes and gossip. And although I am sure that the matter of payment would be waived for our king, I will inform you of her price, should that be an issue. If this proves to be of interest to his majesty, then I shall inform her of the issues you have disclosed to me. _

_ Best wishes, _

_ \--- Monomon _

  
  


\---

Save for the sounds of crayon on paper and the wind howling persistently outside the door, Jiji’s cave was silent. 

Jiji herself seemed oblivious to the incredulous stare the king of Hallownest had been giving her for the past minute. Aforementioned king could not tell if this was because her attention had been completely absorbed by her drawing, or because she was purposefully ignoring him. He had a feeling it was the latter, but felt the need to test this theory all the same.

“Confessor, I don’t see any point to this. I came here for Hollow’s  _ mental health _ , not to take an art class.”

She hummed. Switched from the black crayon to the purple one. 

“Good to hear. I’m not talented enough to teach one.”

His eye twitched. His patience with this woman was beginning to run thin. He understood that she was technically the one in charge here, being the doctor and all, but she could at  _ least _ have the grace to talk to a god-king as if he were one.

“Then why, pray tell, are the three of us sitting around your table, coloring with crayons and markers like common preschoolers?”

Jiji drew a swirl with her purple crayon, then an arc around it. “Not all of us are participating.”

His gaze flicked down to the sheet of paper in front of him. It was blank. As far as he was concerned it was going to stay that way.

“Family” had been the prompt.  _ Obviously _ there was only one person that he could call family, he told himself, and with how  _ obvious  _ this was there simply was no point to go through the whole ordeal of drawing it all out.

(He did not think of the familiar curve of his lady’s face, or the child spawned from Beast, or the little, tiny masks that lay broken at the bottom of the world. He did not feel the pressure building at the back of his eyes. This was Hollow’s therapy session, not his. He wasn’t the one that needed help. He was a king, a god, a conqueror.)

(Under his robes, his second set of arms clutched each other tightly.)

“As I’ve said before; I am here for  _ Hollow’s _ benefit. There is no  _ need  _ for me to participate.” He glanced at his left, where Hollow was sat. They were giving their drawing an intense gaze as the gray crayon in their claw made a wobbly ascent up the paper. No sign that they were registering the conversation beside them. 

The Confessor paused for a moment, eyes finally meeting his. For the first time in this session she looked the part of a trained psychologist; gazing calculatingly at her patient, scrutinizing,  _ assessing _ him. The Pale King met her gaze, straightened in his seat, squared his shoulders a bit more. If it was weakness she was looking for she would find none.

She must have found something, for she looked back down to her drawing. 

“Ah. I see.” 

He blinked slowly, stupefied at this declaration. “...And what is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

She filled in her purple shape. A snail’s shell, it looked like.

“It means exactly what you think it means.”

His eye twitched again. 

(Under his robes, his grip tightened.) 

Hollow colored on beside him, blissfully ignorant.

The Pale King looked back at the paper in front of him. It’s blank face mocked him.

_ Weak, _ it seemed to say,  _ you’re weak and she knows. _

“Hollow,” they startled, giving him a wide-eyed look, “might you pass me the gray crayon when you are finished with it?”

They nodded, adding one last line before passing it over.

Across the table, Confessor Jiji ducked her head, as if hiding a smile.

\---

A resounding _ clang! _ echoed off the Hive’s walls as Hornet’s blow was parried.

The young spiderling hissed, jumping back to avoid another quick swipe from her opponent. In her haste to get out of the way she nearly tripped over her own feet, and she just barely managed to land upright.

Beves-who had been insisting she call him by his proper title of “Hive Knight” for years now- snorted at her frustration. 

“I’ve seen _ booflys _ move with more grace than that,” he taunted. 

She glared, her lower set of arms moving rapidly to conjure silk. “And I’ve  _ fought _ booflys that hit harder than you.”

Beves, the asshole that he was, laughed at this blatant threat. “Ah! What venom this spider spits! How it  _ wounds _ me!”

Her eyes narrowed further. She had half a mind to  _ actually  _ spit venom at him, see if he was still laughing then.

Instead she used her first set of arms to point her needle at him and hissed, 

“Enough talk. Either forfeit or fight.”

He smirked, leaned down and readied his nail. 

“As you wish.”

In the blink of an eye he’d lunged forward, nail poised for attack. But Hornet was prepared. She leapt over her opponent with ease, striking his nail with her needle for greater height. This time she landed almost perfectly. Beves was thrown by this new move and nearly careened out of the training ring. 

Who was the clumsy one again?

He whirled around, a growl bubbling from his throat. Perfect timing-she’d just finished spinning the silk. 

With a loud battle-cry he charged at her again. Just as she’d hoped. With a flick of her wrist she’d looped her silk through the hole at her needle’s end.

“ _ Shaw _ !” came her own cry of battle as she slung her needle forward-

Beves hopped over it with ease, using his nail to bounce upward as she had-

She growled and yanked the needle back-

He cut through her silk like it was nothing and before Hornet could even process that she’d been hit, she was knocked onto her backside, the tip of his nail meeting her chest.

“I won,” he said, smiling.

“And I want a rematch,” she said, glaring.

He rolled his eyes and sheathed his nail, offering a hand to help her up.

“Okay, but we seriously need to take a break now. We’ve had, like,what? Six matches in a row?”

Still glaring Hornet pushed the outstretched hand to the side and pushed herself to her feet. Her joints crackled. It felt more like  _ twenty _ matches in the ring. Not that it should matter. 

Hornet was a warrior, a princess-protector. She didn’t need breaks.

“I’m a princess-protector-warrior, Beves. I don’t _ need  _ breaks.” She made a point to ignore the concerned expression his face scrunched into. She used this opportunity to brush past him and retrieve her fallen weapon. A quick once-over revealed no damage.

“Says who?” he asked.

_ Mother _ , she thought. “No-one,” she said. 

“Right,” he said, sounding like he didn’t quite believe her.

She turned to face him again, just to show that the glare had not left her face. “I’m  _ not  _ lying,” she snapped, jabbing her needle in his direction for emphasis.

He held up his hands in mock-surrender. “I never said you were.” 

“Good. Because I wasn’t.” She lowered her weapon. “Now, fight me again.”

“ _ After _ we take a break.”

She huffed, “I already said I didn’t need one.”

“Well, maybe I need one.”

“Wha-We only went six rounds!”

He shrugged. “Feels like a lot more to this old exoskeleton.”

“You’re not _ that _ much older than me,” she accused.

“Middle-aged, then.”

“ _ Beves _ .”

“Fine, fine. If you really want to fight, there isn’t much I can do to stop you.” He sighed and shook his head in disappointment. “It’s a shame, though. All those extra honey-buns are going to go to waste..”

Wait what? “Wait  _ what _ ?”

“Didn’t Vespa mention it? The kitchen made too many honey-buns today. They’re going to throw them out if nobody takes them. I thought we could sneak in and grab some over break, but you said you’d rather fight so..”

There was another _ clang! _ in the training room as Hornet’s nail dropped to the floor. There was no sign she heard it; by that point she was already out the door, barreling towards the kitchens as fast as her legs could carry her.

Beves chuckled to himself, following the sound of her foot-steps.

“Works  _ every _ time.”

  
  


\---

An accordion sang a somber march, far in the distance. It’s melody carried proud and strong, mingling with the winds of the Howling Cliffs, drifting faintly into the quiet town of Dirtmouth.

  
  


Elderbug couldn’t help but shudder.

He didn’t know who or what was playing that dreadful song, only that he had a very, _very_ bad feeling about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! We've started some therapy (Jiji is wonderful and weird), I finally wrote a scene with Hornet, and I was able to add in Grimm (kinda)! I've been itching to get to this point in the story! Hope you guys had fun reading it; I know I had fun writing it!


	8. The way they think about it all, if I tried I would never know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elderbug means well. He really does. But maybe he should have stated his grievances with more tact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini chapter! Warnings: Elderbug says some controversial stuff. He's a good guy who's got people's best interests at heart, but his reaction to the Grimm Troupe in game reminds me of those old church-going men who are disappointed in today's youth. He's a bit of a prude, in short.

“I’m telling you, they’re a danger to us all! Every minute these-these  _ degenerates  _ live on our borders is a threat to our town’s safety!”

Across the table, Elderbug’s guests both groaned at this proclamation.

“You’ve been saying that for the past  _ twelve  _ minutes now,” Iselda started, exasperated, “but you still haven’t told us who this supposed ‘danger’ even is!”

“You’d think that would be the first thing he mentioned,” Sly chimed in, taking another sip of his tea. The liquid was quickly spat back into its cup. 

“Blech-what in the  _ King’s name  _ is this?”

“It’s just green tea,” the older bug frowned, looking at his own cup skeptically. “Brewed it fresh this morning. Tastes fine to me.”

“Well don’t quit your day job. It tastes worse than boiling aspid venom,” the fly retorted, shoving his full cup aside. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “But if it’s good tea your after, my shop had just the thing for-”

“You’re getting us sidetracked!” Iselda cut off Sly’s shameless self-promotion. Turning to Elderbug she said, “Look just tell us who it is that's got you all worked up already? Corny can’t stand it when I’m out of the store for too long.”

“It’s those horrible circus fiends!” Elderbug huffed, reaching for the kettle and refilling Iselda’s cup. “Surely you’ve seen them by now, what with all the ruckus they’ve been making.”

“You mean Grimm and his troupe?” Iselda asked, once she’d thanked him for the refill. “They’ve been friendly enough, from what I’ve seen.”

“And most importantly, they’ve a generous amount of geo to spend,” added Sly, earning himself a light elbow-jab from Iselda.

“That’s what they want you to think! Can’t you see? They’ve used their devilish charm to blind you from all their mischief!”

The two shared a look. “Mischief,” Iselda said, deadpan.

Elderbug nodded, then began to count off his fingers;

“They’ve been playing that dreadful music all night, they’re setting up all those sinister tents, there’s always some sort of maniacal laughter coming from those little  _ minions  _ of theirs, and don’t even get me  _ started  _ on the way they’ve dressed that girl!”

That last line caught Iselda’s attention. Her eyes narrowed to irritated slits. The shopkeep next to her scooted his seat to the side, not wanting to get caught in the crossfires.

“..What’s wrong with the way she’s dressed?”

Elderbug halted, flushing a bit. “It’s just..well you know..” he made a vague gesture at his chest, “a little... _ provocative _ ,” he finished, whispering the last word as if it were some particularly scandalous piece of gossip.

Sly cringed. That was definitely the wrong answer.

At the woman’s shocked expression, the eldest tried to justify his comment. “There’s her own safety to consider here! What if she were to catch the eye of some miscreant who views it as an invitation?”

Sly sank into his seat. _ Oh you old fool, _ he thought, eyeing Iselda’s sharpening frown,  _ you should have kept your mouth shut. _

“You have to be kidding me right now!” she exclaimed, rightfully outraged. “What are you trying to say here? That it would be her fault if something like actually happened?”

Elderbug put his hands up defensively.“Oh no! That isn’t what I-of course it wouldn’t be her fault! I was just saying that perhaps she should consider what people might think about a young lady who dresses that way.” 

Sly groaned, hiding his face in his hands. 

Iselda sputtered, completely and utterly flabbergasted by the words that had just invaded her ears.

There was a screech of wood on tile, Iselda’s chair wobbled dangerously before settling back onto all fours.

“We’re  _ done  _ here.”

Sly was quick to agree. “Okay,” he said, following suit.

Elderbug rose as well, wincing briefly at his stiff back. “Wait! I hadn’t even proposed my solution yet!”

“You don’t have to,” Iselda replied, marching past him. She grabbed her coat of the hanger by the door, fingers beginning their work on it’s buttons. “We respectfully decline. Right Sly?” 

“Mhmm, yep, sorry!” He confirmed, reaching for his own coat and hat. 

“But-”

He was abruptly cut off by the slam of his front door. With a dejected sigh he slumped back into his chair.

Although he had already garnered some support among his church friends and a few other concerned citizens, Elderbug had really been hoping to get the two shopkeepers on his side. Receiving letters of complaint from a group of concerned elders was surely enough to cause action, but having two of their communities most prominent members as allies would have been beneficial. He supposed he would just have to make due with what he had. And get started on his own letter, before he got too tired.

He would get to writing later, though. For now he just wanted to finish off his cup of tea, and try to put his social faux pas from his mind.

  
  


\---

A soft knock came at Lurien’s door.

“Master?” His butler called, “You’ve received another correspondence from Dirtmouth.”

Lurien didn’t bother to remove his gaze from the telescope. 

“What mortal peril is Elderbug claiming to be in this time?” He drawled.

Behind him there was the sound of crinkling parchment.

“Actually, this one isn’t from Elderbug sir. Father Marshall wrote this one. Same set of issues Elderbug addressed-a circus troupe that’s been stirring up trouble.”

Lurien hummed. On the streets below a man and woman walked hand and hand, huddled close together under their umbrella.

“Many others have written in with the same complaints. Shall we be sending an investigator, or perhaps a few guards?”

The couple laughed heartily. Shared a brief kiss. 

Lurien’s grip tightened.

Approaching footsteps. A hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“Sire? Are you listening?”

The Watcher managed to tear his gaze from the bugs below. He failed to ignore the way his cheeks burned at Theo’s touch.

“...Send for an investigator. If the group’s papers are in order, then we’ll give them a warning.”

Theo pulled his hand back. 

(Lurien’s own twitched at his side, wanting to chase it, press it close to his heart. He did neither of those things.)

“And if not?”

“Then they will be given fifteen days to file for the proper paperwork, as is customary.”

Theo gave him a brief bow and turned to leave. “Very good sire.”

The words fly from his mouth before he can stop them.

“Theo?” he cringed at his voice. So desperate. Longing. (Lonely. Wanting.)

The servant stopped at the doorway. “Yes sir?”

“Bring me some tea. Chamomile, please.” And so quiet he worried that he might not be heard, he added, “Feel free to join me, if you like.”

Theo smiled. “I would be glad to, sire.”

Lurien watched him go. Heard his footsteps fade to silence. Down the hallway the elevator hummed when he summoned it. 

By his count, these events took place within the span of two, maybe two and a half minutes.

It takes at least ten more for the heat to finally leave his face and fifteen more for his heart to stop trying to escape his chest.

(By the King, what a disaster he was.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell, Theo is the name I gave Lurien's butler. I decided to forgoe the one-sided Lurien/PK subplot, because PK has enough angst on his plate. Also as funny as the "Simp Lurien" headcanon is, there's just so much more potential for his character. I don't plan for Lurien to show up too much, so I thought that some fluffy sub-plot romance between him and Theo would be a fun little thing to have going on.


	9. All things end and all things change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimm makes good on his word. Hollow is finally starting to make some progress. The Pale King is beginning to accept the fact that he's grieving. Brumm just wishes Divine would shut up sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings this time! Just enjoy the chapter!

For the first time in nearly a month, the Pale King found himself in complete, blessed, solitude. 

Hollow should be in the middle of their cooking lesson, provided he had the time right. They had taken to the culinary arts with an unexpected, but  _ very  _ welcome, enthusiasm. They were getting quite good at it as well, according to the staff. Their tik-tik roast having been an especially big hit.

He had yet to try any himself-Hollow had informed him, quite ardently, that he wasn’t _ allowed _ to until they had improved a bit more. 

He’d done his best not to laugh at this demand-what a _ laughable _ notion, that anyone should be able to tell a king what he can and cannot do!-and had compiled without much fuss.

(He might have been smiling, just a tiny bit.)

Should they find themselves worrying about where their father had gotten off to, they need only refer to his schedule. In turn he would be accompanied by a pair of retainers, who would inform them of any changes that occurred.

Jiji had suggested this plan. It felt a bit strange, having to detail his exact whereabouts on paper like this, but he couldn’t deny that it had helped them both a great deal. Hollow had finally started going off on their own, comfortable knowing where to find him if they needed to, and their father finally got some time to himself. 

Which he had elected to spend in his workshop, on this particular day.

Both sides of his workbench were cluttered with the trinkets he’d already completed- pocket watches, wingsmoulds, puzzle boxes, and other things of a similar ilk.

Currently in his grasp was a music box. It was rectangular in shape, with intricate patterns of silver stars lining it’s sides, it’s porcelain face bearing an array of beautifully painted flowers. The only part of it’s design the king himself had no part in. Lurien had been tasked with that, and had done a remarkable job, as per usual. 

The flower’s arrangement held meaning, Lurien had told him, their petals somehow conveying wishes of happiness and pleasant dreams. The secret code of flowers was not a new concept to him-for it was from his own wife that this idea was born- but he had never been well versed in it. All the different meanings to be gleaned from a single plant were just plain confusing to the wyrm.

Thoughtfully he arced his thumb over one of the petals. It’s cheerful yellow was a familiar sight in his lady’s garden-buttercups, he remembered them being called. 

(Root had sent these to one of her duchess friends after hearing she and the duke were expecting.)

Perhaps they signified children, then. Or maybe just congratulations? 

His finger wandered over to a flower of a deeper gold. A marigold? 

(He remembered gifting her some in the earlier stages of their courtship. They would look breathtaking in her garden, come spring.)

The third flower he recognized as a baby's breath. Those had always been one of his favorites. Something about the dainty white buds struck him as elegant, like powdered snow on a winter morning.

(A pot of them sat regally at his bedside. He watered them every week, as his Root had instructed.)

The final bloom was unfamiliar to him. Round soft pink petals, with a circle of fuchsia in the middle. Were those in the Queen’s Gardens, hidden in some corner that was unknown to him? It was not an impossible notion-he never really had visited as much as he should have. Perhaps he should go there more often, now that he had the time.  


Actually, that didn’t seem like such a terrible idea.

After a moment's thought, he set down the music box and rose from his chair.

“You two,” he called to the retainers lingering by the doorway. They stood at attention eagerly.

“Inform the young princling that I will be in the Queen’s Gardens, should they need me. It’s high time I paid it another visit.”

There was, of course, that ever present tone of sorrow with him as the king traversed his lady's garden's without her at his side. But for the first time since she had passed, there was a true sense of comfort in his heart.

\---

Just down the hall from their parent’s bedchambers was the room of the former Hollow Knight. Not too long ago it could have easily been mistaken for a guest bedroom, the walls hosting an exquisitely cut great-nail and nothing else, the bedsheets spending more time empty than not.

These days it was a bit more apparent that someone actually lived there. Stuffed crawlids and mosscreeps had joined the bed’s pillows. The marble flooring had been replaced with carpet. A clock, crafted by the king himself, sat atop the new dresser, which was packed full of dresses and robes.

What stood out the most, though, were the drawings on the walls. Not due to any particular skill or prowess. Most all of them bore the wobbly lines and scribbles that plagued the art of a beginner. Save for one that had been titled  _ The Royal Family _ in cursive gray crayon. That one was obviously the work of someone more experienced.

Rather, it was the drawing next to this piece that stood out. Similarly titled  _ Family  _ (with the letter “F” missing it’s middle line) it depicted a few figures that were also in  _ The Royal Family _ . 

A short, pointy-headed man stood next to a lanky cloaked bug, with long regal horns. The two were surrounded by shaky silver lines that looked like the White Palace’s outline, if one were to squint. 

In the first piece the man was joined by a large woman with milky blue eyes.

In the second she had been replaced by an ominous black oval. 

The first piece’s bottom had been left blank.

The second’s hidden under a mass of messy black whorls.

This strange picture always managed to grab the attention of anyone who walked in the room.

Most of those people were the retainers, looking for any messes that might need tidying up. It was more of a formality at this point; the young princling was neat as a pin.

No matter how many times they had been in the room before, their gazes would always find their way back to that picture.

Not one of them understood what it could possibly mean, but all of them sensed that it was profoundly sad.

\---

Above the quiet town of Dirtmouth, at the highest point of what Hallownest called ‘Crystal Peak’, lived Radiance and her Eclipse. Or they used to live there, at least.

Grimm hadn’t visited very often, and the few times he did were relatively short. His sister had always been so quick to chase him and his kin away.

(She never had been a fan of his surprise visits. “How many times must I remind you?” she would shriek, “You are  _ not _ welcome here!”)

Even so, he remembered it clearly enough to recognize just how much of it had been destroyed. Dream catchers lay in tatters at his feet. Most of the huts seemed to have been torn down completely, a few even looking like they’d been set ablaze. Even the caterpillar’s nest hadn’t been spared.

What had once been the beating heart of Radiance’s unity was now nothing more than a ruin, a near-forgotten footnote in history.

The only thing left intact had been the statue at the very edge of the peak. It was, of course, crafted in the Radiance’s image. 

Grimm smiled, all jagged teeth and malice. The stature above him continued to stare straight ahead, unaware of his presence beside it.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, “those moths really did forget all about you, didn’t they?”

Silence. 

“What, they get tired of being trapped in that sick fantasy world of yours? Did they finally realize that you only kept them around because they made you feel important?”

Silence.

He scoffed. “Fine, stay quiet then. It’s not like I don’t know the answer anyhow. You made it very clear that you were being killed when you filled my head with that ear-splitting screech.” One claw found its way to his temple as he recalled the pain. He still heard that cry in his nightmares, sometimes. Not that he would be telling  _ her _ that. He would never live it down.

“I’m still a little angry about that, you know. You startled me so bad that I fell right off the damned ceiling and shredded my brand new cloak.”

Silence.

His eyes narrowed. “Of course you would laugh at that.  _ Typical _ .”

Silence.

Grimm scoffed and shook his head. “Why do I even bother trying with you? It’s like talking to a brick fucking wall.”

Silence.

A response like that didn’t even deserve a response. He shook his head in disappointment. “Really Radi?” he said, just because she hated that nickname. “Our last conversation and  _ that’s _ all you’ve got to say to me?”

Silence.

He shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way then.”

Without warning, the trails of his cloak sharpened enough to cut through the earth below him, and plunged in. They sprung out in front of him, wrapping around the old statue.

Grimm squeezed as hard as he could. 

With a satisfying  _ crack  _ the Radiance’s image crumbled and caved in on itself.

He spat on it’s dust.

“Good riddance, _bitch_.”

\---

“Finally,” Divine groaned, slumping down next to Brumm. “We’re finished.”

The latter stopped polishing his accordion, turning to give his companion a questioning look. “‘We’? It was the Grimmkin who pitched the tents. All you did was sit on your ass and watch.”

Divine met his eye, her own narrowed in an annoyed glare. “I was  _ supervising _ , thank you very much.”

He went back to tending his instrument. “Mrm. If by ‘supervising’ you mean ‘pretending to be busy so Master doesn’t bite your head off’ then yeah, sure. You were supervising.”

She scoffed at his remark, claws perching themselves on her waist. “At least I actually tried to act like I was doing something of use. What have you done but sit here and fiddle with that silly thing all day?”

“Firstly, my accordion is not  _ silly- _ ”

“It looks like the crossbred spawn of a piano and a bellow,” Divine interjected.

“And secondly,” Brumm continued, purposefully ignoring the jab, “I have been doing exactly what the Master told me to. Waiting for that investigator to come back with our approved lease and keeping the townsfolk away from the bigtop.”

Divine barked out a laugh.“Oh, how very noble of you, Brumm. Fending off all these vicious beasts-” she gestured to the empty plaza- “with your own two claws, and waiting for the _mail_ at the very same time! Truly, the unsung hero of our age.”

“Mrm. Shut up.”

“And he's _humble_ too! We don't deserve you, Brumm.”

“Shut. Up.”

“But of course. The very least I could do to repay my knight in shining armour.”

“One more word and I smash this  _ ‘silly crossbred thing’ _ over your head, Divine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pk was sort of right about the flower meanings; Buttercups mean childishness, baby's breath means innocence/gladness, marigolds mean happiness, and the last flower symbolizes pleasant dreams (according to our friend Google, at least.) I'll let you guys guess exactly what flower it is. 
> 
> I've decided to leave the tune of the music box out; feel free to imagine it as whatever song you like!
> 
> I threw in another hint about WL; this one is pretty obvious, though. 
> 
> Also in case you didn't know, a bellow is one of those things from older days that they use to make the fire burn better! Here's what they look like: https://img0.etsystatic.com/051/0/6278199/il_fullxfull.661255532_r48v.jpg
> 
> Next chapter will be Pk and Grimm's long awaited meeting, and possibly some more Hornet? We'll see about the Hornet thing. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you for reading!


	10. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dryya finds the Nightmare King in the midst of (accidentally) desecrating a grave. Things do not go very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I know I said last time "Next chapter is going to be PK and Grimm meeting" but this IS technically about that happening, so I'm letting myself off the hook here. The scene I have planned for that feels like it would do better as a stand alone chapter, which will be chapter eleven. It just didn't fit the flow, y'know? Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter!

“Dryya, it is _ not _ your fault,” Isma declared for the nth time. “You had no way of knowing that anything like this would happen.”

Underneath her mask, the woman in question felt her mandibles clench in irritation. Fierce as she may be, she couldn’t muster the will to meet Isma’s eye, pointedly keeping her gaze on trained on the kingsmolds guarding the courtroom’s entrance. Both stood impossibly still, curved weapons at the ready, dimmed eyes staring blankly ahead. The moment those eyes brightened was what she was watching for, the signal that would herald the king’s arrival. 

She knew that he would punish her for her failure-for this whole awful mess was nobody’s fault but her own-and while she couldn’t say she was looking forward to that, she was prepared to own up to her mistakes and accept whatever fate his majesty might condemn her to.

Isma had not been very pleased to hear that. From second the words passed her lips, her friend had made it her mission to try and convince her otherwise.

It was pointless to try to argue with her again-almost as pointless as Ogrim pretending he hasn’t been eavesdropping on the other side of the throne-but found herself doing so anyways.

“Nothing would have happened at  _ all  _ if I had only stayed,” she replied, firm. 

“You were only gone for ten minutes!” 

“I shouldn’t have left for even  _ one _ minute.”

“If you would only let me station the kingsmold’s in your stead, you wouldn’t have to worry about leaving at all.”

Dryya barely choked back a gag. The thought of abandoning her majesty with nothing but those _ things _ to protect her made her queasy.

“I made a vow, Isma. I don’t intend to break it,” Dryya snapped, her voice the sharp sting of a cut.

“To her, or yourself?” 

Before she could stop herself Dryya had already flinched. Isma’s soft, inquisitive tone did not fool her; they both already knew the answer to that question. As all of Isma’s strikes were, the blow was calculated to hit where it hurt most. 

The instinct to swivel her head around to leer was strong, but she managed to keep her focus ahead.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. The tense silence only made the waiting that much worse.

Dryya’s already thin patience was beginning to fray at the edges. She knew the king was a busy man, but that didn’t stop her from wishing he would get here a  _ little  _ faster. All of the Five were already in position by the throne, the courtiers were all huddled patiently in the center of the room, and at the wall opposite to the entrance the stenographer had taken their seat, typewriter at the ready. The only piece missing from the board was the most important one.

Dryya wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand to wait before she marched down to the holding cells to serve that grave-desecrating  _ heathen _ with her own brand of justice. That is to say, make mince-meat of him.

(He had been lucky to catch her nail last time. See him pull  _ that _ off again.)

At the thought her fingers twitched, itching to seek the comforting grip of her blade. It would be improper to brandish it in here, so she settled for hooking her thumb in its sheath.

Isma must have caught her movement. She didn’t have to turn her head to know that the guard captain was frowning at her in disapproval.

“Trying to start a second fight will solve nothing,” Isma chided, sounding like her mother used to when she caught her sneaking an extra treat from the pantry. 

“No, but  _ murder  _ might,” Dryya retorted, as if she has been scolded for such an act. She was still a bit heated from their argument, but too desperate for a distraction to care. If the silence carried on any longer she might just scream.

“I’m being serious, Dryya. Please promise me that you will leave any possible execution to his grace.” Oh, of all the things to bring up, Isma chooses the  _ one _ thing Dryya was trying to get her mind off.

“If he ever deigns to bless us with his presence,” she snarled. The courtiers would never dare to breath an ill word towards his highness, but even  _ they _ were starting to fidget. Her index finger traced the hilt of her nail. Just what was taking him? 

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon-”

-And right on cue the two kingsmolds had snapped to attention, white eyes flashing in brilliant contrast against the dark void that made up their bodies.

Isma sucked in a sharp breath, not bothering to finish. Dryya felt her whole body go rigid. 

  
  


Before he had even turned the corner, she caught sight of his light, it’s glow harsh as it bounced off of the palace walls. By the time he had she was squinting, and when he had reached the courtroom proper she was wincing, shielding her face with an arm. Several cries of shock around the room made her think everyone else had done the same.

The White Lady had once told her that although he maintained some control over his kingslight, his emotions impacted the glow a great deal.

_ “Think of it like sheet music,” _ she had said.  _ “When composers score a happy melody, it sounds soft and warm, like a midsummer’s day. A sad tune is soft as well, but in the way raindrops are upon roses. But when a song is angry it is crass and sharp, scalding your ears like a hot flame. Am I making sense?” _

_ “Yes, milady,” _ had been her response.  _ “Though your explanation was a bit  _ flowery  _ for my tastes.” _

The pun was terrible, but the way her eyes had sparkled with mirth at it had been lovely.

A cold chill tickled Dryya’s spine. He hadn’t been _ this _ furious since the day his ladyship had passed. 

(She was surprised that day had not left her blind. Even the sun’s blaze had paled in comparison to his divine light.)

A moment after she heard him shuffle onto his throne, the light began to retreat. Isma sighed in relief at the same time Dryya lowered her arm. She took a few moments to blink the spots from her vision.

“My apologies,” the king said, more clipped than usual. “I suppose my temper got the better of me.”

Most of the crowd bowed to him as they scrubbed their eyes. A few of the braver courtiers murmured that he was forgiven. 

“Lady Dryya? Would you please step forward, so that everyone might see you?” he asked. Her heart stilled for a beat.

So, this was his plan. She would be put to death right here in the courtroom, with all her peers as witnesses.

There were worse ways to go, she supposed. At the very least she would die surrounded by family.

Tears crept on the borders of her sight. She wished she had time to apologize to Isma. To let all of her fellow knights know what they meant to her. Well, they  _ already  _ knew that she loved them, but it would have been nice to say it one last time.

She did not trust her voice to hold steady, so she inclined her head in a nod instead.

Her steps were sure, and her legs did not tremble. She would not spend her last moments on earth cowering.

Head high she stood with her back to the king, facing the crowd. She did not shy away from their gaze. A true knight stands tall, even in the face of fear. 

Her shoulders were tense as she anticipated the killing blow. Perhaps it would be the king’s nail through her heart, or her head being cut off. Either way she would not resist. 

“Now, I’m sure you all are wondering as to why I have called this court into session,” he began, the court’s stenographer typing as he spoke. 

“An egregious crime has been committed today, not only against myself and my wife, but the good people of this kingdom as well.”

Dryya nearly winced. It was true, she knew, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear it said aloud.

“Lady Dryya,” he said and she tensed because surely  _ this _ was the moment he finally did it-

“Would you please explain to the court what happened in the Temple of the Black Egg?”

For a moment she could only blink.

After she realized that she was, indeed, still breathing the meaning behind the question hit her. He must want  _ her _ to be the one explaining the reasons behind her execution to the people. Cruel, but nothing she did not deserve.

“As you wish, your highness.” 

\---

_ “Around noon, a friend of mine coaxed me into joining her and her husband for lunch…” _

...And the minute she returned to her post, Dryya knew she shouldn’t have left in the first place. 

It had been disturbingly easy for Iselda to talk her into doing so; as soon as the words “We have spiced dirtcarver,” reached her ears she was salivating. She was so hungry and exhausted that she had almost forgotten to feel guilty.

(After seeing her practically  _ inhale _ two plates of her husband’s cooking, Iselda had asked, bemused, just how long it had been since her last meal. Dryya had to think about that far longer than she should have. 

Time was such a murky, blurry thing these days.)

The mess she returned to was a stark reminder of her sin.

The temple door-whose lock she  _ herself  _ had fitted, to which  _ only she _ possessed a key-was wide open, as if inviting the whole world to come inside. 

Shock locked her into place. Her stomach felt like it had been filled with lead.

Who would  _ dare  _ to break into the White Lady’s tomb?

_ Graverobbers, emboldened by the lack of security, _ her mind hissed.

As if to confirm this theory, a charred rasp drifted out from inside.

“Ugh! They’ve got you sealed  _ tight _ in this thing, don’t they? Stars, I  _ knew _ I should have brought one of the others..” The speaker cut themselves off with a strained growl.

Her blood boiled. 

Before she could stop to think, Dryya had already stormed through the door, blade at the ready, ignoring the offerings she knocked over in the process.

The knight leapt gracefully over the steps that lead to the temple’s centerpiece, narrowly missing one of the grayed roots that stretched from the egg’s base to the floor. She landed right behind the intruder.

“Stop right there!”

The figure in front of her did no such thing. It was almost as if they hadn’t noticed her at all. Their spindly claws remained firmly planted on the rounded edge of the black egg, just under where the Beast’s dreamer seal would have been. With a noise that made her hair stand on end they yanked, muscles under their dark carapace tensing with the effort. To her growing horror, a spiderwebbed crack started to climb the egg’s surface. 

“Come on now,” they snarled, “just a  _ bit  _ more..!”

She felt her mandibles slip out from under her mask, a threat display.

“In the name of Hallownest, I command you to  _ stop that _ at once!” she shrieked.

Surprisingly, they did. 

Two ruby red eyes regarded her patronizingly. “Oh dear! You’re challenging me. How  _ cute _ .”

The urge to gouge them out with her nail pulsed, and her grip on the weapon tightened. 

Dryya compromised by jabbing it at their throat in warning.

Lightning fast, one of their hands enclosed on its end. Hemolymph and steam oozed from between the fist’s fingers. She noticed the liquid’s sickly red sheen and nearly choked.

“My my,” they-no,  _ it _ \- crooned, “such bravado! I like you already.” 

“Step away from the egg,” despite her attempt to sound authoritative, her voice was the wavering squeak of a tik-tik. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

It made no move to comply. Her mandibles splayed wider.

“I said, get your filthy claws-” she shoved her nail deeper into the wound, and it’s smile widened- “ _ out  _ of there!”

“Wrong. You said, word for word, “keep your hands where I can  _ see _ them”. On a technicality, I am in compliance.” As if to emphasize this point, it gave the stonework a harsh squeeze. Pebbles broke free in a cloud of dust, bouncing off of the roots below and out of sight. 

Dryya hissed and drove her nail even deeper. Fresh hemyolph(?) squirted from the gash with a hiss of it’s own. She barely even registered the droplets that spattered onto her mask.

“I know not what your plot here is,  _ fiend _ , but I will not allow it to be carried out. You’re coming with me, and you will do so quietly if you know what’s best for you.”

The thing holding her nail snickered, jagged rows of teeth peeking out from it’s lips. “I do believe we’ve had a misunderstanding. While I will accept the title of fiend with pride, you’ll find that I do not have a ‘ _ plot’  _ of any sort.”

It leaned forward, conspiratorially. Dryya couldn’t help but cough-it  _ reeked _ of flame and ash. 

“All I’m here to do is pay my respects to the slayer of the old light.”

The knight’s eyes narrowed, gaze flicking from the pointed grin to the cracks in the egg.

“... _ Respect _ ?”

For the first time the intruder’s smile faltered, scarlet gaze following her own. 

“..I thought this might be more interesting if it were face-to-face. Though, I’m beginning to worry if that’s cause for some sort of offense. If this is true you have my deepest apologies. I hadn’t meant to be rude.” 

Dryya nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. What sort of scoundrel has the  _ gall _ to defame the final resting place of a God and then pretend like it hadn’t known what it was doing?

“I don’t care what you were _ trying _ to do. What you  _ have _ done is not only trespass within, but  _ vandalise  _ the grave of our late queen. For that alone I would be well within my rights to take my blade out of your hand,” she gave it a tug, because she knew that despite the lack of reaction it _ had _ to hurt, “and run it straight through your heart.” 

She took a deep breath, pleading for enough strength to control her fury.

With a quiet  _ shink  _ her blade had returned to her holster. Confused, the interloper looked from it’s injury to her.

“But that decision is not mine to make. So I won’t. Now, as I said before; keep your hands where I can see them, and come with me  _ quietly _ .”

The knight faced no struggle, but was not granted the quiet she asked for, either.

\---

Dryya’s word’s hung a heavy sheet of silence over the court. Only the king himself was brave enough to dispel it.

“..You may return to your position at the throne, Lady Dryya. The court thanks you for your testimony.” he said. Before she had time to react, he was already continuing. 

“A brief recess shall take place, so that I may converse with the defendant. Sir Hegemol and Sir Ogrim shall accompany me.” With that, the Pale King stood from his throne and began to make his way to the holding cells. Ogrim and Hegemol were quick to follow.

After a few minutes had passed, Isma took Dryya by the hand and lead her friend back to her side at the empty throne. Her soothing words fell on deaf ears. Dryya had never felt so numb. It seemed like a lifetime had passed by the time the king had returned.

The defendant had been let off with a warning, he said, and had agreed to pay for all damages that had been caused. No further punishment would be given. Court was adjourned, they were all asked to leave.

Dryya the fierce was left shell-shocked, wondering what the _fuck_ had happened over recess.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeah you might notice that the tag "Enemies to Friends to Lovers" has entered the tags. I've had that planned since the beginning, but I wanted it to be a surprise. Grimm isn't that great at first impressions.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mellow In Softness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597020) by [UnregisteredCookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnregisteredCookie/pseuds/UnregisteredCookie)




End file.
